gynvael | abraxas:: INBOX

[ She takes a shaky breath, doesn't quite manage to fully hold back a whimper. As she rocks into his hand, her head drops to his shoulder, her nose pressed into the crook of his neck. Her thighs are already slick, her skin flushed pink all over from her cheeks down.

Instead of responding to his teasing, she just bites his neck with a kittenish growl. Only slightly more gentle than would leave a mark, and when he takes his hand back, she runs her tongue over the shallow indents her teeth leave before she lifts her head back up.

He kisses her again and she clutches the sides of his face. She doesn't move immediately; instead, she tightens around him and lifts his shirt, tugging it up like it's a personal slight. ]

[ The sharp pinch of her teeth draws a low sound out of him, catching in his throat. He tilts his head, offering more as she bears down. His fingers come away slick.

He's nosing at the dip in her collarbone, inching towards her breast, when she pulls at his shirt. It's thoughtless to let go for the briefest moment to toss it aside, before he's tugging her close again. Her hair brushes over him; he buries his fingers in the thick locks.

His other hand splays over her back, digging a little into the crook between her neck and shoulder. She's wrapped tight around him, but somehow it doesn't feel tight enough. Heat sweeps through him, and he grinds back against her. ]

[ When he pulls her back to him, his skin is so hot pressed against her. She can map him by memory now, every raised line and darkened spot left over from his various battles, and she can feel where each one currently brushes against her own flesh. Her arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, one hand curled at the back of his head.

She may not be tight enough for him (rude), but when still, she feels so full that she has to focus just to take a deep breath. Her legs quiver a little when she rises a bit and begins to move at an easy speed. Her chest heaves when she pants, clutching him to herself. Her head falls backward, eyes closed, and her hair tickles her back. ]

[ The edge of her nail scratches over the dense mass of jagged scarring down his back. It ends the lightest jolt through. He cups her breast, lets the rough pad of his thumb explore as she rides him.

As she leans back, he follows the long curve of her throat. Kisses it, nestles into it, breathing heavy. The bloodrush fills his ears; her pulse flutters, trapped between them with how close they're pressed together. ]

Julie— [ Whatever he means to say fades into smoke; feels like his brain is about to go the same way. ]

[ She holds his head to her neck, fingers still curled into his scalp, and her cheek rests against his temple. His breath is damp on her skin, humid. She times the movement of her hips with it, following the rhythm without thinking about it. Small, wordless noises keep coming from somewhere low in her throat.

All she can think about is how he takes up all of her senses, how it's like there's nothing else in the world when they're like this, how the tooth bouncing on her sternum feels heavier than it actually is. Geralt says her name like a prayer, and her chest aches, like someone standing on top of her ribcage in combat boots, threatening to crush her under the weight, and it's good. The world's heaviest weighted blanket.

She grinds down and then gasps, nails dug into his flesh like someone might try to literally snatch him away at this exact moment. Everything is white and burning and her whole body goes so tense that she already starts to feel sore. She can barely even breathe, and yet a single fierce hiss escapes when she can inhale again. ]

Mine.

[ He finds his pace alongside her on instinct, a learned familiarity. His breaths are uneven, a ragged snarl escaping when her nails bite into his shoulder. Every muscle in his body coils tight. She's so fully enveloped around him, he can't feel anything else.

The medallion warms between their bodies. He drives up into her, liquid fire igniting deep inside him. His toes curl. There's heedless abandon in the way he grips her, the kind he seldom allows to take over. Except now, here, in moments like this. A different release than just pleasure.

His eyes fall shut again. When he answers, it's without thought. A rough, ] Yeah, [ in between an exhale and a stuttered pause before the next breath. ]

[ For a long moment, there is nothing in her head except a soft rushing. No chaos, no colors, not even normal thoughts. Just pure nothing, and that alone is enough to send a fresh wave of sparks up her spine. He grabs her so hard that it hurts and she only whines, clings to him with limbs that feel like gelatin. She can't stop trembling where she sits, rocking gently back and forth.

Panting, she cranes her neck as awareness starts to return to her, kissing down his face until she catches his mouth. His teeth are sharp where they graze her tongue; she sighs happily and readjusts her fingers in his hair.

The lingering static that sizzles under her skin makes everything feel fuzzy and soft, like a haze. Her heart stops pounding, slows down again. Their foreheads touch when she moves to take a few deep breaths, chest still heaving just a little.

Eyelids scarcely more than cracked open, she lightly runs her thumb along the fine, dark veins next to his eye. ]

[ The tips of his nails sharpen with his teeth, the first time they've both turned pointed together. He doesn't notice, pays no mind to a thing except the way she grabs at him. Her lips on his, he thinks he might be burning inside out.

He rocks harder, until the pressure bursts. A shudder runs down his spine; his chest heaves, and his heart beats fast enough it nearly matches hers. The twinkling lights from the tree blur into haloed spots.

The darkened veins are thin, the black not quite filling all of his eyes. But it's close, and it makes his pupils look as though they've blown wide. He leans in to kiss her again, a pleasant fading ache spreading over him. ]

[ She is vaguely aware that his nails are digging in and they kind of hurt, but not that they've actually sharpened; she mostly thinks he's just grabbing harder than he realizes, and it's not enough to break skin so she doesn't say anything. She doesn't hate it, anyway.

That delicate ring of gold still left in his eyes is captivating, and she exhales deeply before he kisses her again and her eyes fall shut. She still occasionally shivers, goosebumps along her spine. As she cards her fingers through his hair, her other hand rests on his arm.

As her heart and lungs taper off the rush of adrenaline, she feels the noise start to try and return from the very edges of her consciousness. Like a predator watching her from the tall grass, waiting for the right chance to strike. The fact that she can already feel the ache in her skull, memory preparing for the imminent pain, makes her want to scream into a pillow. Why, why can't she have more than just a few moments of peace?

Instead she lets out a heavy, frustrated breath and buries her face against his neck, her body still wrapped all around him as she curls up slightly. ]

[ Steadily, his pulse returns to its slow pace, breathing evening out—his recovery quicker, always, than most humans, though the satisfying buzz beneath his skin lingers much longer. He relaxes, content to soak in the afterglow for a bit. It's where he expects to stay for at least the next few minutes.

So the tension that overtakes her catches him by surprise. Geralt pulls back, his hand going to her cheek. His nails remain pointed, a hint curved. ] Something the matter?

[ She's been through a lot, but he'd thought she's started putting what happened behind her. As much as they all can, that is. Even if he still worries when she goes into the Horizon. Occasionally imagines that she will not emerge again. That he doesn't understand why is what troubles him. It makes it near impossible to predict when it might happen again. ]

[ She raises her head with a begrudging huff, though she immediately leans into his hand without thinking. There's something in her eyes that is distinctly tired. Not sated, not contented, not even sleepy. It's a much deeper exhaustion, edged with an unending headache.

And it's also pretty clear that she's not exactly happy about it, either. Julie is used to handling her own problems, and to have something that she seemingly can't change or fix, something that's hurting her, makes her feel small and weak. Defenseless.

For the obvious reasons, that doesn't sit particularly well with her.

Behind her, wine is being poured, the bottle floating in midair. This is even less reprieve from the pain than she usually gets from sex, so the other other thing she can do is drink. ]

I'm okay. [ She is still forever stubborn. Hiding the wound like an animal. ] Just a headache.

[ Geralt studies her for a moment longer. Does he believe her? No. Not necessarily. His expression doesn't hide that; they both know there's something she isn't saying. But he can sense now isn't the time to push.

He's worried, that's all. The way she seems more, not less, tired after the bullshit with the Horizon was over. ]

You can talk to me, Julie. [ Just an offer. He reaches behind her to pluck the floating glass of wind, handing it to her. ] Come to bed.

[ They can drink there. And he is not unaware she prefers to have him nearby when she can. He isn't needed anywhere else tonight. He can stay. ]

I know.

[ Her voice is soft. She does know. What she also knows is that he will try to take it on as his responsibility to fix, despite the insanity of that idea and how much he has already put on his own shoulders. But even more than that, she is afraid. Afraid of what's happening to her, afraid of what measures people might want to take to help her, afraid that their hosts might learn what she can do if she tries to get assistance. She's spoken to Wanda, who promised to try and help. Julie doesn't know anyone else she thinks can.

She shifts her head slightly, kisses his palm, and then takes the wine when he hands it to her. Rising from his lap, she kisses his cheek lightly before she pads away down the hall, taking a quick detour into the bathroom with a "Be there in a sec". When she makes it to the bedroom a few moments later, her hair has been brushed out and her face washed. The circles under her eyes are darker without makeup, like she hasn't slept for a few nights. On the windowsill, there are two wine bottles and several of the little glass vials Nadine puts her sleeping tonics in, all empty.

When she climbs into bed, she's frowning absently, although all she's doing is thinking to herself. The noise makes it harder to focus internally, becomes overwhelming as she tries to concentrate. She sinks into the pillows, which feel almost excessively soft compared to what's inside her head. ]

I think the Singularity is wakin' back up. [ It's abrupt, like she's been weighing what to say, and then just spoke on impulse instead. ] It's... loud. In my head. The noise. Like how it was before the Dimmin', if I tried to get close to the Singularity.

[ He lets her go, remembering to take a moment to gather up his shirt and anything else left scattered—in case Nadine returns later. He sheds his trousers along the way; by the time Julie returns, he's on the other side of the bed, half under the covers.

His brows knit together, studying her. She looks fucking exhausted, though he can't say it's the first time. For either of them.

He rolls over onto his side. The what? He sets the opened wine bottle on the nearest surface. ]

You hear it even now? [ Out here, away from the Singularity? ] Has it been getting worse?

[ She's right. His first instinct is to fix it. But he doesn't know where to begin. He's starting to think the only answers, if they want them, lie at the Singularity itself. Out in the crater. A place he hasn't set foot in since they were first brought there months ago. ]

Always. I always hear it. [ Her voice is still quiet. She takes another deep quaff from her glass and then sets it on the bedside table before she turns to face him directly. ] Sometimes it's quieter than others.

[ She doesn't have a clue how to determine what that means. All she's discerned is that, if she can either be distracted or drunk enough, it becomes dull enough to actually think, to find a bit of peace, but even those reprieves seem to be getting shorter and shorter. Rarely can she get more than a few hours of sleep before the roar starts to grow again. ] Like I said, it was better before, when we were on the ship.

[ Her forehead slowly wrinkles as she thinks about that. The night that Rhy asked to meet in the Horizon, she'd been woken by a particularly strong wave of noise. Stronger than it had been in several days. That was the night that they'd -- ]

They sent a casket to the Singularity, Thorne. [ Her eyes widen. She's still not sure exactly how it all connects other than the timeline. ] They did it while everyone was distracted at the banquet. Opened a portal and sent some Summoned to the crater, then smuggled 'em back before anyone noticed. It was before they signed the ceasefire agreement. [ So just a little light treachery. ] That was the night the noise started to get loud again.

[ On the ship. As they approached the Dimming? It confirms the Singularity truly does hibernate, if its slumber affects Julie. She's the only one of the Summoned who seems touched by the Singularity's hibernation and its return to power afterwards. Her and now—Rhy. ]

I spoke to Rhy. [ The casket this time, he isn't certain affected much. Hasn't Thorne been sending one as a tradition for decades? But the year prior. That was when things changed, when so many of the damn things changed hands, were tossed into the crater. Not to mention magic expended by those not of this world. He can't help but wonder if the Singularity then was irrevocably transformed. But Rhy had told him something he found worth noting. ] He said last year, during the Dimming, the Singularity felt...hungry.

[ And he is well aware what Thorne believes the Singularity is doing. Consuming spheres. Or absorbing them, perhaps. He can't say if that means the realms themselves, if true, are being absorbed in their entirety or simply the magic in it. Leave behind worlds devoid of any Chaos. ]

Julie. [ He studies her. As much as he wants to help, this is out of his depth. He knows she's careful who she speaks to, but he also knows that isn't always an option. Like with Ciri, it's a fine line. ] Something like this...you need someone well-versed in magic.

[ The slumber didn't affect her last year -- in fact, she'd spent the entirety of the Dimming in the Horizon, with no ill effects to speak of. Everything had seemed completely normal to her at the time, although it was also before she understood exactly how different she is from the others. It's possible that, for them, they felt the hibernation in a way she couldn't. Now, she can only tell because of the noise's volume changing.

Her nose wrinkles a little. ] Yeah, he said that once. Hungry, grumpy, horny. Like fuckin' rock PMS. Weird. I mean, I guess if I was gonna sleep for a week solid, I'd feel like that too.

[ Julie agrees, she doesn't think a single casket hurts anything; it's more the whole "breaking a truce to leave it alone" that doesn't settle well with her. ] I didn't... last year, I didn't know anythin' was different at all. That was when I was fightin' with everyone in Nott, I was in the Horizon the whole time. It seemed the same as it always did, to me. I don't know if everyone else, the other Summoned, felt it go to sleep.

[ Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, she's quiet. Then she looks away, lays her head on his shoulder and curls up closer. ] I talked to Wanda. She heard it. The noise. When she touched my hands. She's gonna try to fix it.

[ And honestly, she's probably the only person that Julie trusts to actually be able to do it. Wanda is so powerful that it's frightening. If she can't help, then Julie doubts anyone can. ]

[ He makes a soft noise. He's not certain what he thinks of the idea of the Singularity as having thoughts and feelings. It suggests an entity that stirs within the chaos which flows through all of them. If something has slumbered inside all this time, what does it mean?

He considers. No. He doesn't know what's different, either. But like he told Rhy—something is shifting. Not only for Julie, but for all of them. He was here from the start. The Horizon was stable. Didn't start fucking up until several months ago. Now it's as though it can't stop.

Still, he seems to relax a hint when Julie mentions Wanda. They aren't close—Wanda seems reluctant around him, hesitant—and Geralt is hardly one to pursue a friendship even with people who do like him. But if Julie trusts her, then that's good enough.

He releases a breath, lifting up his arm to make room for her. If only monsters were the biggest problems they had. ]

Let me know you're all right after?

[ Unfortunately for Geralt, it isn't just an idea. It's reality. And while Julie wouldn't say that it has thoughts and feelings in the same way a human does, there's no other words she knows to describe them.

He raises his arm and she tucks herself under it, tangling her legs with his. One of her arms drapes over his waist, and with the other, folded underneath herself, she absently clutches the tooth, running her thumb over the carved symbols. ]

I will. I don't know when she can do it. She said she has to create a spell.

[ It actually won't be the first time Wanda enters Julie's mind -- she'd been there for a memory, had reached in and gently shifted things after, just enough to keep Julie from having some kind of full-blown psychological break while stuck in the Horizon. But Julie gets the impression that when Wanda goes deep into people's heads, it's generally not a process designed to keep them safe.

Sighing, Julie closes her eyes for a moment. She can feel his heartbeat through his skin, against her cheek. Slow but steady. It joins the noise in her head, but as an undercurrent that makes her feel less adrift in the racket. ]

Just... if I'm not all right, just promise you'll keep Nadine safe.

[ For a moment, he's silent. None of this sits well with him. Not in the sense that he doesn't trust what's being planned. More that he'd rather not it'd not come to this at all.

But here they are.

His brows furrow. More and more, he finds it impossible to reconcile the side of him that's always accepted what simply is and what he's not willing to acknowledge if he needn't. Like the fact that he has, time and again, outlived the people most important in his life. And isn't that the greatest irony for someone whose path is only ever mere steps ahead of death's shadow? ]

You will be. [ He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Perhaps she will find the words hollow. He doesn't know. He only knows he doesn't want to think about her not being all right. ] We'll find a way.

[ His words don't exactly ring hollow, but Julie more than anyone how quickly things can go to complete shit, through no fault of one's own. She has somehow, miraculously, managed to stumble through everything to this point, but all that has done is fully cement the idea that survival is mostly luck. Pure, dumb luck. As much as she desperately wishes love was really enough to conquer all, that having people mean so much can save her, she knows it's not true.

Of course, none of that takes away from the soothing feeling she gets from his words. She knows it's dumb, that he is no more able to guarantee that than she is, but she trusts him so deeply that she believes it simply because he says it. She can't help it. She doesn't even really know why she feels like that, questions whether she should.

That's all something she can ignore for now, to just let herself be enveloped in that sense of security instead. The feeling has been fleeting for so long now, all she wants is a little bit of it. ]

I know. [ She agrees softly, running her fingers along his side. Her limbs feel heavy; her body is tired, but she knows that no matter how long she keeps her eyes shut, the noise she hears will remain too loud to let her do more than doze when her body gives out and forces her to rest. ] Do all Witchers sleep as little as you do? Or is that just like, a bad habit of yours?

[ He doesn't quite relax, but he lets himself settle into the quiet night. At least this year, there's been no bloodshed for the Dimming. All in all, surprisingly calm. But that's how it often is, isn't it? Even in the midst of war, some days the sun shines bright, the waters are still; he's learned to take what he can when it comes.

His lips twitch. ] Never met a Witcher who didn't sleep like shit.

[ Bad habit of all of theirs. It's reached the point where he can no longer tell if they don't require much sleep or he just. Adapted. He supposes the difference is negligible.

He slept easier inside the walls of Kaer Morhen. The real one. And he can admit he sleeps a little easier here with her, too. He doesn't know why. Perhaps his thoughts just wander less towards its dark corners. ]

[ She wishes she could say it feels like more than the calm before a storm, but frankly, most of the easy days feel like that to her now. Like she's always waiting for a disaster, for the next emotional gut punch. After everything she's been through, she doesn't know how else to look at the world. Reveling in the easy times has failed her twice now. ]

Guess it's harder when you're the most likely one to actually find the monster under the bed. [ It's a dry joke. Obviously, Witchers have reason to sleep terribly, as a collective group. She can relate, although her own issue trends more toward the dreams she has when she does sleep. ] What do you do instead? When it's four in the mornin' and everyone else is out like a light?

[ She has a feeling she knows, but Geralt's ability to sit with his own thoughts remains astounding to her. Not that her tolerance for silent meditation was ever very high, but her period of forced isolation has left her with more than a slight aversion to just thinking. ]

[ One day, he'll tell her about the monster he really did find under his fucking bed.

He hums. ] Beyond sitting in the dark?

[ She's right; he does do a lot of that. Only during the rarest moments is he unable to retreat inside his head. It's something he was taught since he was a child. They didn't all take to it—fuck knows Lambert hated it—but Geralt was quick to. ]

There's a cliff. Past the walls. You can watch the sunrise over the city.

[ It's simple. He likes it. He's scaled the face of that cliff so often now it's second nature. If he vanishes from Cadens before dawn and returns shortly after, that's probably where he's been. ]

[ The least surprising story ever. She's pretty sure she could leave him in the housewares department of a JCPenney for fifteen minutes and he would somehow end up fighting a monster. (She thinks it's endearing.) ]

I know it's hard to beat that level of excitement. [ Sitting in the dark, that is. Although she suspects that it's also a very slightly less boring activity when one can also see in the dark.

She makes a soft noise in response. That does sound very nice, even if she's positive she would probably break her neck trying to get up there. ] When I was younger, I used to sneak outta my room at night to go party. We'd drive to the nearest city -- took almost an hour -- and stay out all night. When we were drivin' back, usually the sun would be comin' up behind us, and sometimes we'd stop and sit in the fields to watch.

[ Sometimes there would be a few of them, sometimes it would just be her, sitting on the hood of a car or in the truckbed of a pickup parked in the middle of someone's field. As long as you were gone before the field hands made it out there, there was no downside.

She thinks she preferred the times that she was alone for it.

Her fingers stop stroking his side when she moves her hand to his chest; her nails run through the hair there. The flickering light of one of her fireball jars throws shadows on the wall. ] When's the last time you went?

abraxas:: INBOX

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